Swaying isn't Dancing
by rabidcrazygirl
Summary: Just a short little Pam POV fic. Total JAMmy fluff.
1. Swaying isn't Dancing

**Just a little stream-of-consciousness fic from Pam's point of view. JAM, all the way!**

**Swaying isn't dancing**.

It's just you and me, connected by the thin white iPod cord, heads bent towards one another in the office's fluorescent interior lighting. It's nothing special—just two friends enjoying the same music and one another's company after a long day of tormenting a mutual enemy. Nothing more. Nothing less.

**Jellybeans aren't a date.**

You wander over to my desk and pop a few pieces of candy in your mouth, carefully avoiding the black and the white ones. I see the knowing looks that some people shoot our way, but I don't care because you're talking to me and I can take my mind off of Sudoku or Solitaire or whatever stupid alone-game I've been playing for the past hour or so because I never actually have any work to do. And you smile and we chat, and sometimes we get so caught up in the conversation that you accidentally eat a black or a white jellybean, and I laugh at the disgusted look on your face as you pull a tissue from the box on my desk and spit it out. But real dates aren't like that. A date is dinner and awkward conversation and hesitant smiling, not full-out grinning and laughing like we do.

**A teapot isn't a declaration.**

It isn't—not of anything. It's just a gift. It's a _thoughtful_ gift, from someone who knows me. It's a gift that I plan on using every day, just to show you how much I love it (and also because I really like having tea at my desk—that and your company may be the only things that keep me awake from here on out). But I can't read that much into it, because there's nothing to read. It's a symbol of the good times that we've had together, and of how much closer that has brought us. As friends.

**Laughter isn't love.**

If it was, I would be in love with you a thousand times a day. You get me through the bad times, and you make the good times even better by pointing out how ridiculous the world is. Sometimes all it takes is that incredulous, amused look on your face, and it'll set me off, laughing like the crazy person that I am. And those same people will look over at me and smile those knowing smiles that make me want to slap them in the face and scream at them that I'm not in love, I'm not, I'm not, he's just the only thing that makes my life worth living! But I think that that might not help.

**Friends isn't lovers.**

I don't know why people think that it is. All I feel for you is friendship. Admittedly, it's a friendship that makes my heart pound slightly faster when you meet my eyes. It's a friendship that makes my palms go slightly sweaty whenever you stand too close. It makes me close my eyes when you walk by, so that I can breathe in the smell of your cologne, and it makes my stomach wrench when you walk out the door with _her_ for the weekend. It makes me want to punch the wall right beside that hole that Andy made, because I am so fed up with being ignored and being pushed aside. And it makes me want to run up to you and grab your shirt and whisper to you that I'm sorry, I'm sorry that I missed my chance, that I'd do anything, anything to get it back again, to get you back, to put things right where they were, minus one fiancé.

If we were lovers, you'd say yes, yes, yes, and you'd whisk me away, out of this dark hell-hole that we both spend most of our time in, and everything would be perfect.

But we're friends.

We're not in love.

Are we?

**There you have it, folks. Cutesy, short, small—why not take a little more time to review? Pleeeeeeeeeeeease? You know you want to…**


	2. A Soda isn't Coffee

**Well, someone gave me the idea to do one of these from Jim's POV, and so I did. Here it is. I don't think that it's as good as Pam's, but whatever. Why not read it anyway? It'll take about three seconds of your busy workday, I promise.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own it. If I did, things would be a lot different.**

**A soda isn't coffee.**

I think that we both know what the implications of coffee are. Coffee means nervous laughter and getting to know you (but superficially, never too deep) and where are you from, what do you do, laugh, giggle, playful comments, sweaty palms. But a soda is just for friends. For us, a soda marks the end of an epic jinx. It's a break room treat, a chance to socialize and laugh until we feel the bubbles tickle our noses and we snort and try to get ourselves under control before we spew Coke everywhere, because we know how Angela would react if she had to sit down at a messy table.

**Grocery shopping isn't an affirmation.**

Who goes grocery shopping on a date? Grocery shopping can happen between two friends, two friends who happen to have the same purchases in mind, who happen to shop at the same store. The only couples who shop together are married or living together—and we are neither. The fact that we may have run out to the supermarket together means nothing except that it was a group effort to make Kevin feel better—absolutely nothing more.

**Pranks aren't a date.**

I will just go right ahead and say this: you are my partner-in-crime. And so what? Does that mean anything deeper than that? No, is the answer that you are looking for. Because if two people just like to do the same things, enjoy laughing at the same things, enjoy spending time with each other while working on the same thing—does that need to go any deeper than that? Doesn't a taste for the same kind of thing make us simply _friends_? Why read into it? Because if every prank that we have pulled together counted as a date—well, then I'm pretty sure that we would be _past_ the dating stage and probably be married with a house in the suburbs and three smiling children. Not that I think about things like that or anything.

**Goodbye isn't forever.**

When I walk out the office door every day, past your desk, past the coat rack…I always tend to slow down slightly. I don't know why—maybe it's just my feet remembering the old days, when the two of us would leave together, the last ones in the office, flicking out the light switch, stepping out into the linoleum hallway and waiting for the elevator to take us down, down back into the real world where I could never have you because you were with someone else. And now, when I walk past your desk with her, she holds onto my arm and feels the slight tug as I slow down, glance your way, maybe grab one last piece of candy (because I need the sugar to keep me going, doncha know). And she looks up at me and I see the pain in her eyes and I feel incredibly guilty for the jellybean staining the inside of my hand.

But even though I can wash the candy-color from my palm, I can't get you out of my heart. And so I come back. No matter what happens, no matter _who_ happens, I will always come back to you.

**Oh, Jim. I'll love you! But you readers-- why not review? I mean, we've gotten this far together, so why not take the extra step to show that you care? It would mean so much, to me and to Jim. Because he needs to know that someone (besides Kreepy Karen) cares.**


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